When Brian Fitz-Count returned to his castle it was buried in the silence and obscurity of night; only the sentinels were awake, and as they heard his password, they hastened to unbar the massive gates, and to undraw the heavy bolts, and turn the ponderous keys which gave admittance to his sombre castle.
The fatigue of a long day had made even the strong man weary, and he said nought to any man, but sought his inner chamber, threw himself on his pallet, and there the man of strife slept, for he had the soldier's faculty of snatching a brief nap in the midst of perplexity and toil.
In vain did the sentinels look for some key to the meaning of the bale-fires, which had blazed all round; their lord was silent. "The smiling morn tipped the hills with gold," and the reveillée blew loud and long; the busy tide of life began to flow within the walls; men buckled on their armour, to try if every rivet were tight; tried the edge of their swords, tested the points of their lances; ascended the towers and looked all round for signs of a foe; discussed, wondered, argued, quarrelled of course, but all without much result, until, at the hour of déjeûner (or breakfast), their dread lord appeared, and took his usual place at the head of the table in the great hall.
The meal—a substantial one of flesh, fish, and fowl, washed down by ale, mead and wine—was eaten amid the subdued murmur of many voices, and not till it was ended, and the Chaplain had returned thanks—for such forms did Brian, for policy's sake, if for no better motive, always observe—than he rose up to his full height and spoke—
"Knights and pages, men-at-arms all! I have good news for you! The Empress—our rightful Queen—has landed in Sussex, and this very day I go to meet her, and to aid in expelling the fell usurper Stephen. Who will follow in my train?"
Every hand was upraised, amidst a clamour of voices and cheers, for they sniffed the battle afar, like the war-horse in Job, and delighted like the vulture in the scent of blood.
"It is well. I would sooner have ten free-hearted volunteers than a hundred lagging retainers, grudgingly fulfilling their feudal obligations. Let every man see to his horse, armour, sword, shield, and lance, and at noontide we will depart."
"At what time," asked the Chaplain, "shall we have the special Mass said, to evoke God's blessing on our efforts to dethrone the tyrant, who has dared to imprison our noble Bishop, Alexander?"
"By all means a Mass, it will sharpen our swords: say at nine—a hunting Mass, you know." (That is, a Mass reduced to the shortest proportions the canons allowed.)
When the household had dispersed, all save the chief officers who waited to receive their lord's orders about the various matters committed severally to their charge, Brian called one of them aside.